


Rodor's Rescue

by Linorien



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Competency, Episode: s05e04 Another's Sorrow, Gen, Merlin Canon Fest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-10-10 15:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20530601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linorien/pseuds/Linorien
Summary: Nemeth is conquered and Morgana has taken Mithian to Camelot, but King Rodor has a few tricks up his sleeves. He's not that old after all.





	Rodor's Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to the mods for running this awesome fest and for SaberKi for beta reading it.

They didn’t see her coming. The army, yes, but Morgana was unexpected. Rodor had watched her obliterate the town walls and throw soldiers out of her way. He knew their forces were no longer equipped to defend themselves. 

Years ago, their kingdom had battle mages. But they were long gone. He retreated to his chambers, hid a few crystals inside his clothes, and walked down to the throne room. Mithian was also there, her chin held high as she sat on her throne. She looked over at him as he walked in. He could see the fearful eyes warring with the determined set of her jaw. 

“Can’t you do anything?” She asked, flinching as another scream pierced the air. 

Rodor shook his head. “Morgana is too strong; I’m out of practice. Our best hope is to surrender quietly and hope that some of her noble upbringing still remains.”

Maybe they would only be imprisoned in their chambers, afforded luxury but cut off from society. 

The doors smashed open and bounced against the walls. Six burly guards swarmed in yanked them off the throne. Mithian yelped when her knees slammed into the floor. A guard slapped her face and Rodor fought down the urge to fight. It would only get them hurt more. 

The guards roughly searched their clothes for knives. Mithian had been hiding one on her left ankle. She got another hard slap with a studded glove for that. It would bruise for sure. 

Morgana walked in. Despite the fact that they were already kneeling, the guards shoved them forward. 

Rodor caught himself on his hands, but it hurt. He was getting too old for this.

Morgana looked at them and sneered. “How pitiful. I grew up hearing of the wealth and might of Nemeth, but a handful of soldiers has now conquered your kingdom. Child’s play, really.” She cocked her head to the side when she came to a stop, the fabric of her skirts hissing. “Do you have nothing to say?”

“Please don’t hurt Mithian,” he said. She mattered more than the kingdom and more than any pride. 

Odin was there as well. “I see why you want to shelter her.” He moved closer and stroked a greasy finger long Mithian’s cheek. “Princess Mithian, you are as beautiful as they say.”

Mithian jerked her head away. “You, Odin, are a cold blooded murderer.”

Rage flashed across Odin’s face. Rodor quickly redirected the conversation before Mithian’s own temper sparked physical fighting. “Why have you done this?”

Morgana lifted her nose. “You should choose your allies more carefully. Any friend of Camelot is an enemy of mine.”

And an enemy of all those with magic. 

“So we divide the spoils as agreed?” Odin was inspecting the marble statues in the room. 

“Take whatever you wish.”

“Then, what is your business here Morgana?” He draped himself on Rodor’s throne. 

“I seek what is rightfully mine. I seek the throne of Camelot. And for that,” she paused, nailing Odin with her gaze, “I need an army.”

“My army.”

Morgana turned back toward the doors and toward the sounds of fighting still raging in the streets. “I believe they’ve shown their mettle today.”

“And what do I receive in return for this service?”

“Arthur. To do with as you wish.” She turned back around and walked closer to Mithian. “But first, I shall have need of Mithian.”

“Me? What for?”

“Why, you’ll be the bait for Arthur. He never could resist a damsel in distress.”

“And what if I refuse?”

“Mithian,” Rodor said softly. Trying to impress upon her that it would do no good to resist. It was futile. But so was trying to stop her. 

Morgana spat a command. Burn. 

Mithian screamed and clutched her right wrist. “Stop it! I can’t get it off! Stop!” Her cries echoed and Rodor felt her pain stab at his heart. 

“That’s enough, Morgana,” he said with as much command as he could. “We see your point.”

Morgana stared at him for a moment and then cut off the spell. Rodor held her gaze until she looked away. 

Mithian was curled on the floor, furiously trying to pull the bracelet off her wrist. “I can’t get it off!” She looked up at Morgana. “What did you do to it?”

“Your gift from ‘an admirer’ last week?” she sneered. “It’s had a curse on it since you got it. You can’t take it off.”

It was all he could do to keep his head high as he was escorted out of Nemeth. The conquering soldiers jeered and threw rotten fruit. His hands were bound in front of him on the saddle so he couldn’t dodge. Thankfully, many of them had been too busy drinking last night to have good aim. Rodor took pleasure that nearly as many were hitting Odin. 

However, he also saw his own people watching him and Mithian, needing some reassurance that not all was lost. So he held his chin high and tried to reassure them that he had a plan. Which he did. A small one. With holes in it. 

When they camped for the night, he held Mithian close. He didn’t trust these men. Maybe they wouldn’t dare while Morgana was awake, but even she had to sleep some time. Rodor was a light sleeper after years of being a father. No one would get near his daughter. 

After only some scraps of bread on the road, they came to a tomb Rodor thought was forgotten. There were already soldiers waiting for them, guarding the cave. Odin was also there, having ridden ahead in the morning. He was waiting with a map spread out on a large stone table. Rodor and Mithian were shoved against the wall and told to be silent. Apparently they wanted to gloat while they planned. Pure and simple intimidation tactics. He didn’t know why they felt it necessary; they had already conquered his kingdom. He was beginning to doubt he’d be able to even escape. 

“I’ve put soldiers here, here, and along this ridge.” Odin placed small rocks on the map as indicators. “As we don’t know which route he will take, I’ll move a few more spread thin over here.”

“I’ll make sure he comes this way.” Morgana dragged her finger along a path only they could see. “Arthur prefers the cover of trees anyway.”

“But the whole border is forest. He could take any number of paths.”

Morgana ignored Odin and walked toward Mithian. “You’re a princess. Surely you know how to read a map. Come here.”

Mithian glanced at him and he could only nod. Their best strategy at this point was obedience. Get them to relax their guard. She walked forward, hesitantly, but without questioning. Her wrist remained unhurt. 

“You’ll need to lead Arthur here along this route. Tell him its the way you escaped, the way you avoid the guards between. You just need to make sure he crosses the border here and follows the river along here. Can you do that?”

Mithian leaned forward and studied the route. She was quite brilliant with maps, always had been. Rodor had no doubt she would remember the path. “Father? Is this the place we took Cornwall when he visited?” She had her finger on the map and looked over at him. He walked to her side. 

“Yes. Remember we skipped rocks in the pond.”

“I thought so. Then yes, I should be able to remember the path and lead him along.” She nodded at Morgana. “The only thing I don’t understand is what will stop me from warning him that it's a trap. You keep saying you’ll be there to keep me in line but won't Arthur recognise you?”

“I’ll make sure Arthur doesn’t recognise me,” she said, her eyes glinting. “You focus on making sure your acting skills are up to par. It shouldn’t be too bad.” Morgana pouted mockingly and looked at Rodor. “Afterall, your poor father’s really here and looking ever so frail.”

Rodor narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t that old. Not yet. He was nearly ten years younger than Uther, even if his hair had started greying first. But, he took a deep breath, it was in his advantage to act weak. Let Morgana drop her guard, let Odin fail to consider magic. 

So he hugged Mithian close and watched as she walked out of his sight, walking alongside Morgana. 

It would take four days to walk all the way to Camelot from here. It would take a day for Arthur to gather men to ride to their “rescue.” Then maybe two days to get here. Unless Morgana used her magic to get them to Camelot faster. Rodor figured that gave him two days to act weak and forgettable while learning the guard rotations before he made his move. 

He spent the time reviewing spells in his mind. It had been years since he challenged himself like this. His old tutors would’ve been disappointed. So many of the simple spells for silence had been lost to years of disuse. He could remember the spell to check for poison, which would only be useful if Odin actually remembered to feed him, he could remember the spell to lift a small amount of water from the earth, more useful but very taxing, and he could remember the spell create a small breath of wind, possibly useful to distract a particularly daft guard. He positioned himself against the wall and tried to cast his mind all the way back to his lessons, picturing the big tome on the table and the feel of the pages between his still uncalloused fingers. 

He didn’t know how long he remained in thought like that, but finally broke through the barrier in his memory and was able to remember many more spells. He had a plan. 

Odin was asleep. Most of the soldiers were asleep. Rodor was awake. 

Carefully, quietly, he pushed himself to his feet. No one stirred. He reached into his robes and took hold of one of the smaller crystals. Once more he reviewed the words in his head before placing the hand with the crystal over his chest and whispering the misdirection spell. The crystal glowed a soft blue and he felt the magic wash over him. There was still some energy left in the crystal, but he grabbed another in his left hand to be sure.

At the mouth of the tunnel stood two guards. They hadn’t noticed him yet. Whispering, he cast a simple silencing charm on their mouths. The crystals glowed and he prayed it was aimed correctly. Rodor walked closer and raised both fists. He smashed the crystals against the back of both their heads and they fell to the ground. Not waiting to see if they were completely unconscious, he ran. 

He ran almost directly into a solitary guard. Cursing, he ducked behind a large tree and caught his breath. He really wasn’t as young as he used to be. He replaced his depleted crystal with the last big one he brought. It snagged on a loose thread and he nearly dropped it. Oh! Sticking charm. That’s what he forgot to cast on the other guards. Stupid. Speaking one after the other, he cast a modest silencing charm and a sticking charm. It was only on the boots, but Rodor assumed the guard wouldn’t be smart enough to take them off. At least not in the time it took Rodor to skirt around him and get partway to Camelot. 

Unfortunately, his plan did not involve a horse. Instead he walked the less travelled paths of the forest, relying on the moon to light the way ahead. He found a stick thick enough to be a walking stick and that helped him keep up the pace. When the moon was overhead, he noticed he was breathing heavily. An hour later he thought he heard angry shouting. Rodor glanced fearfully around, but he couldn’t see anyone. He picked up the pace nonetheless. He was hoping any search for him would travel the main roads and thus stay far from him. 

The dawn heralded his border crossing into Camelot. He allowed himself only a very short break at the creek to drink before he continued on. A border would not stop Odin; he needed to reach the city. 

When the sun was fully above the horizon, he took a calculated risk that paid off. Hoping to run into a Camelot patrol, he made his way to the nearest road. It wasn’t a major road, but after two hours of more walking, he saw the bright red cloaks on horseback. He waved them down, shouting to make sure they continued to focus on him because he wasn’t sure how to remove the misdirection spell or how long it lasted. Thankfully, they rode closer. 

“Good morning, sir,” one of them greeted. “What’s the matter?”

Rodor leaned heavily on his walking stick and took a moment to catch his breath. “Odin has taken Nemeth and captured me and my daughter. She is undoubtedly in Camelot already, being forced to lead Arthur into a trap. We can’t let that happen.”

The knights looked at each other. “How do we know we can trust you?”

Rodor took off his signet ring and held it up. “Because I am King Rodor and my daughter is in danger.”

The knights looked at the ring and whispered briefly between them. Rodor waiting, barely. This could be his best chance of averting a terrible disaster, but the inactivity felt wasteful. Finally, they handed it back. 

“Apologies your majesty, we had to be sure. But now we must hurry. If you don’t mind riding double...”

Rodor accepted the help up into the saddle. He was too exhausted to ride on his own anyway. And then finally they were off. Galloping toward the white city. 

They were lucky and ran into Arthur’s party riding away from Camelot. The knight on the other horse hollered and wheeled his horse to intercept Arthur without spooking the horses by charging headlong. Rodor could see when he told Arthur the situation. The other party halted and Rodor locked eyes with Mithian. 

Relief washed over both of them. It only took glances to confirm that she was okay, but still shaken. She glanced at the older woman in their group with fear. So Morgana had learned an ageing spell then. He knew one way to dispel that. Morgana or Mithian? Well it wasn’t a choice really. He’d just have to hope that Morgana was confident enough in her magic to feel like she still had the upper hand. 

Rodor dismounted and Mithian did the same. She ran to him and crushed him in a warm embrace. “You’re unhurt?” he asked, he had to be sure. 

“Nothing bad,” she replied. But he saw the way she tugged on her sleeves. The burns. 

“Merlin?” Rodor called. “You’re the physician’s boy, right? Bring over some wraps.”

“Father, no, it’s not worth it,” she protested. 

“Of course it is.” 

“She said I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone,” Mithian hissed. 

Rodor could see Morgana hovering nearby. Trying to stay in whatever role she had established for herself. 

“You didn’t. I already knew.” Merlin appeared next to him with the bandages. Rodor pushed Mithian’s sleeves up. 

Merlin sucked in air sharply. “Why didn’t you say something?” he asked. 

“It’s nothing, really. Looks worse than it is.”

“Arthur hasn’t seen them then?” Rodor asked. 

“No, of course not.”

Rodor turned to Merlin. “I know the words, but I don’t have the power.” The boy’s eyes widened. “Just wrap the wrists while I start the spell.”

Merlin nodded, still partly in shock, but he rubbed the salve on Mithian’s wrist and when Rodor whispered the words to the healing spell, he felt a rush of power connect with his spell. No doubt both their eyes were glowing, but they kept their heads down. At the conclusion of the spell, Rodor guessed Mithian’s wrists were even better than before. 

“Thank you,” Mithian said. 

“Anytime,” Merlin replied.

Rodor stepped back from his daughter and turned to Arthur. “Arthur, you have my immense gratitude for taking care of Mithian and for riding to my rescue with such haste.”

They clasped arms. “Anything for a friend. Though I admit I’m surprised to find you here. Mithian made it sound like you were quite trapped.”

“I was, but that is a tale that can wait for inside with some dinner. For now, lend an old man your sword for a moment?”

Arthur was puzzled, but he held it out. Rodor really hoped the rumours were true. There was only one type of sword that could kill a witch like Morgana, and only one type of sword that could defeat an immortal army. He grabbed the sword and swiftly spun around to plunge it into Morgana’s gut. 

She fell back with a grunt, clutching at the sword, but Rodor held it in there, driving her to the ground. Distantly, he could hear shouts of surprise, but someone must’ve held Arthur back. He watched coldly as the disguise snapped and the true face of Morgana Pendragon was revealed. 

He watched as she realised it was no ordinary sword, no magic could save her now, and no one was coming to her rescue. He thought of the fear in Mithian’s eyes as he twisted the sword and said, “That's my daughter, you bitch.”


End file.
